


Burn

by trakands



Category: BioShock Infinite
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-15 08:53:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4600638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trakands/pseuds/trakands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Some say the world will end in fire."</p>
<p>The city in the sky promised miracles, but nothing could be further from the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle

**15 March, 1891**

The room was small and forever smelled of chalk dust, but, even so, she was lucky to have it. The education of women was hardly deemed a priority, particularly in male dominated scientific fields. Admission to Cambridge had been as simple as threading a needle with rope. Establishing herself in the field of academia was, in simplest terms, a battle. Fighting to earn her doctorate, Rosalind fought daily for credibility in her theories. The struggle for others to understand persisted day after day, year after year. The so-called brightest minds of the age were still so limited in their alleged mastery.

Why set the limitations of perception to this universe? Why set any limitations at all?

Rosalind skimmed through folders at a desk that, she thought bitterly, was of a far inferior quality than she deserved, due to her academic standing. She clenched her teeth, loathing her inferior treatment due to the simple matter of her sex. With a sigh, she sat back in her chair; such thoughts were hardly productive.

Shuffling through a pile of notepads, she quickly located the notations she intended to modify. Her pen scratched quickly across the paper, finalizing an equation that, were she male, would change the world.

The bitterness sank back into her blood. It drove her mad. She had done it, done the impossible. She had undeniable evidence of what lesser minds called quantum levitation. Not only had she proven that, contrary to well-known chemical theory, it was indeed possible to know both the location and orientation of any given atom. Just the thought of it shook her to the core. This changed everything. Everything. She knew, to the finest point, what mechanism would be required to take an atom, any atom, and effectively freeze it in space and time.

Her whole life had led to this revelation, and not one respectable academic would give her the time of day.

Taking a deep breath, she rubbed her fingers over tired eyes and through her hair, knocking pins out of place and onto the desk. Carelessly replacing the pins, she rose an eyebrow in surprise at a knock at the door.

“Enter,” she called, giving her desk an unneeded reorganization.

A bearded man walked into the office, hat in hand, with a kind smile she immediately distrusted.

“Good afternoon, Miss Lutece,” he began, but was quickly cut off with the cold, calculating glance.

“Ah, yes, well, forgive me then.” He spoke in a way that implied he was unaccustomed to being treated without reverence. Rosalind set down a pen she had idly been twirling to more fully evaluate the stranger. He appeared to be roughly her age, humbly dressed in a simple suit that disagreed with the expense of his hat and shoes. A tone in his voice suggested a religious man. Her theory was confirmed at the sight of a small gold cross around his neck, causing her to further question his presence in her pitiful lab. Her analysis took seconds, and she caught his gaze, which he met unflinchingly. He extended a hand, and she stood to shake it, meeting his firm handshake with her own.

“Miss Lutece, I am Zachary Comstock, and, if I may, I’d like to make a few inquiries about your recent publication.”

Rosalind’s eyebrows shot up into her hair. “You’ve read it?”

He took the available seat across from her desk and opened a briefcase, containing a copy of her recently mocked dissertation, _The Facts and Fallacies of Quantum Levitation_.

“It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am, because I must admit, I believe your work has changed my life.”

“I’m intrigued as to how the subject of theoretic physics can offer much to a man of faith, Mr. Comstock.”

He glanced at the ground and gave a smile that must have been used on countless politicians. “Miss Lutece… are you a believer in fate?”

At this she gave a half grin and a bit of a nod. “I… I believe in what some might call ‘fate.’”

Comstock beamed and clapped his hand, “I couldn’t have hoped for a better response, madam. You see, I have, shall we call it, a vision of the future.”

Rosalind felt her shoulders sink. A joke, this was all some sort of sick joke.

“I believe that I have been chosen by God to rescue his flock from this earthly Sodom and bring them into the new Eden!”

The man spoke coherently enough, but Rosalind found them nothing more than the ramblings of a madman, yet she nodded to convey her attention. He seemed a bit young to be so far deranged, he couldn’t have been much more than five years her senior.

“And you, my dear, you are the one to give my city its wings.”

She bit the inside of her lip so forcefully it drew blood. For years she had presented the Cambridge physics board with her meticulous calculations, showing the uncontestable proof that she knew how to hold an atom in space and time, debunking Heisenberg. She had been laughed out of conference rooms while this religious lunatic somehow had at least a shred of credibility to his name. It was sickening.

He smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Your work, your science, it’s very nearly the work of God Himself. It’s miraculous. Do you believe it can be done?”

The question had been asked so many times, by so many mocking voices, that she couldn’t help the resentment that bled into her words. “Mr. Comstock, I have, on multiple occasions, demonstrated my ability to freeze an atom in space and time. At any space, at any time. No, you have nothing to fear regarding my capabilities and understanding,” she realized with surprise that she was nearly taking this man seriously. “The only limit to this… prophecy of yours is one of finance.”

He had the nerve to smirk as he reached into his coat pocket, placing a check on the desk. At the figure, she audibly gasped.

“I am a man of faith, madam, but also one of politics. The United States government is highly invested in both your interests and mine.”

For one of the very few times in her life, Rosalind found herself at a lack of words. “You’re serious?”

“Oh, very much so,” he said with a fatherly chuckle, much too old for his young face. “I want to give you unlimited access to your resources to continue your research. And, when the technology is complete…”

“You want me to put a city in the sky?” Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the hint of laughter out of her voice.

“Well, I’ve suggested giant balloons, but the longevity was questioned,” he said with that sinister fatherly smile.

“Indeed,” she nodded. “You must forgive me, but I’m finding all of this a bit overwhelming.”

“Of course, of course, take your time, my dear,” he reached in his coat, missing the glare he received for the term of familiarity. “Here is my contact information, and I expect I shall hear from you very soon.”

“Yes, I expect you shall,” she agreed, taking the card. They rose at the same time, shook hands, and Comstock offered a final, warm, farewell that left her skin crawling.

After the door shut behind him, Rosalind sank back into her chair, turning the card over and over in her hand. She could hardly process what had just happened. In the span of an hour she had gone from the laughingstock of academia to a fully funded lead on her life’s dream. She covered her mouth with her hand, covering a beaming smile; she felt a tear fall from her eye as she laughed softly, full of more shock and euphoria than her body could contain.

 

**12 May, 1891**

Not only was this Comstock man as serious as he was passionate about this “new Eden” of his, but his political sway was more extensive and frightening than she could have possibly imagined. Within months of his visit, she received a message from the Cambridge executive board. Meeting the professors and deans on at the appointed time and place, she wasn’t sure at all what to expect, more ridicule if anything.

Instead, with less pomp and circumstance than a Nottingham baptism, she was handed a framed paper that declared her a doctor of physics.

In complete disbelief, Rosalind nearly dropped it.

These were the men who had ridiculed her and her research for years, had very nearly refused her application to university on the basis of her gender, and now they wanted to certify her for a decades’ work she had yet to complete?

After shaking several unenthusiastic hands, she shook herself from her daze. “Excuse me, sirs, but you must understand that I’m having trouble understanding your, well, decision regarding my degree.”

Several men glanced uncomfortably at one another before the University President cleared his throat and explained, “It has come to our attention that you have not only surpassed your peers in your field, but have rightfully challenged some of our own staff. In regards to contributing to the scientific pursuits in order to obtain the highest degree, it is quite apparent you have already done so.”

It sounded cheap and rehearsed.

“And, now, you are free to seek after larger, grander studies than can benefit all of mankind.”

She felt herself go cold, but repressed the sensation, smiled in gratitude, and shook the President’s hand a final time before leaving.

Stepping outside, Rosalind leaned against a wall and took several deep, steadying breaths.

“Congratulations, _Doctor_ Lutece,” chirped a voice.

“Yes, well, I,” she shook her head, “Forgive me, I’m at a bit of a loss for words.”

“Forgiven,” he said with more sincerity than made her comfortable. He paused a moment before continuing, “Now, have you given my proposal any further thought?”

There was no way out of this agreement, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to decline. No, this was everything she had ever dreamed.

“When shall I begin, Mr. Comstock?” she asked with a genuine smile.

 


	2. Methods of Communication

**December 24, 1891**

Reviewing her inferior’s work was quite possibly the most intellectually draining exercise she had ever undertaken, but it was a necessary evil. For several weeks, beginning in September, she had been managing multiple teams, all with different specialties but all with the simple goal of preventing a city, with a population of over one million, from crashing to the earth resulting in mass genocide. Simple work, really. It had taken until nearly a few days ago, but the heads of the teams were finally understanding the mechanics of her field. They were all the brightest of the bright, experts in their field, but she felt as if she could more easily explain her atomic field to a stray cat.

The fact that they were taking orders from a woman, half the age of some, sat poorly with everyone. Rosalind gathered the coordinates of the Colombian residence of the most vocal protestor and deprived  it of her field’s protection. It sank, quite unevenly, over a meter into the soil before she graciously reactivated the field. Apparently the poor family dog had been tied to a post at the time. A tragic loss, she was sure.  

She held a meeting the next day. All were attentive.

Much to her surprise, the next day was Christmas Eve. The date meant less than nothing to Rosalind, who had neither the immediate family nor any religious associations. It did, however, take place on a Thursday, Christmas being Friday, and then a full weekend. For the first time in months she had the hope of a full night’s sleep. But before that she had her regular maintenance to complete.

Growing tired, Rosalind glanced back at the readings. She was nearly bored with how perfect everything was. The “prophetic” city would remain unharmed for another night. Sipping on her rapidly cooling tea, a strange blip caught her eye. With a curious hum, she leaned closer to the screen that marked every atom encased in her field to scale.

But one was missing.

“That’s impossible,” she whispered to herself, finishing her tea quickly.

With a pull of a lever and the clacking of keys, she focused on the atom. It was clearly here, _right here_ , actually, she noticed with a chill as she confirmed the coordinates that matched her home. Yet it seemed to somehow be flickering in and out of existence. She watched the flickering for several minutes, surprised she even noticed so small a change. The fluctuation was nearly instantaneous. It was here, yet not here, present in her universe, yet…

Rosalind gasped, covering her hand with her mouth. This single atom was alternating between her reality and another, everything she had ever believed, ever hoped. She covered her other hand over her first, silencing her gasp of amazement.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, “Oh my god, I can’t believe…”

Of course, it was highly possible that this atom linked her to one that was barren or one without intelligent life. There were a billion, billion reasons to believe this discovery would lead to nothing at all. The knowledge that a single atom in this universe connected to another with nothing to offer was not only likely, but probable. Probably.

But she remembered her dream, a decade old, and scrutinized the readings. This impossibility, the fact that a single atom connected her world to another, was somehow connected to _her_. She felt her heart racing, thrilled and terrified at her complete lack of comprehension.

Rosalind closed her eyes and forced herself to take a series of deep breaths, steadying herself.

This couldn’t be the end. She couldn’t simply discover proof of trans-dimensional displacement without immediate action. Rosalind felt herself shaking with anticipation, wringing her hands together in an effort to maintain some form of composure.

In her opinion, she had gone through the proper grieving process. She had accepted the fact that, more likely than not (or was it?), there would be nothing at the end of the “line” of this atom. There could be blackness, or less. She knew this. She accepted it.

But what if there wasn’t? What if there was life, human life? She felt her mind racing in a million directions, most leading back to her dreams. Another her. Was it even possible, even theoretically? None but she had even stretched the bounds of physics this far; she had no reason to believe she could make a contact.

Yet, she did.

Suddenly full of energy, Rosalind sat at her desk, grasping a pen and began frantically scribbling notes. She made careful, thorough accounts of all her observations that night. Every minute detail was recorded in one of her many leather-bound lab books. She took her pen between her thumb and index finger, twisting it and ticking it against her middle nail, a habit she acknowledged but hated. It was always a habit that accompanied a lapse in thought.   

There was no reason to believe the theoretical person at the end of the connection had made this same observation. She needed to establish a contact somehow. Irritably, she tapped the pen against her nail, more quickly and with more force than was necessary, indicating her irritation.

Suddenly, she froze. “That’s it,” she nearly laughed. Sprinting out the study, down the hall, through the double doors and into the library, she began a fierce search. Linguistics? Unlikely. Her best chance would be some form of explanatory military communication text, which she had no doubt that she owned, possessing nearly every published book in the English language, and some in others.

It was dawn before she finished the first phase of her project. As expected, a recount, biased as she was sure it was, of the Boxer Rebellion did contain a sufficiently thorough explanation of Morse code. It was simple, as simple as trans-universal communication could be. The particle responded to the activation of her field. Therefore, with a careful manipulation of “on”s and “off”s, of dots and dashes of sorts, she could pass a message through.

Her body begged for sleep, but she was hardly going to leave this experiment incomplete. New to the code and lacking originality due to her exhaustion, she moved over to the contraption, isolating the atom in flux. Quickly, she settled on a simple message, “This is Rosalind Lutece. If you are receiving this message, please respond.” It took longer than she cared to admit to type the code, but eventually she was successful. Even more excitingly, due to the frequent, minor alterations necessary to maintain the city’s stability, she was able to quickly – well, within a span less than two hours - program the machine to repeat her message. She leaned back in her chair and sighed deeply. Her mind was racing, but her body could not comply. Begrudgingly, she made her way upstairs, barely undressing before collapsing into bed, reaching for a pillow, holding it tightly, and smiling.

 

**2 January, 1892**

Two weeks and six inches of snow had done plenty to dampen Rosalind’s spirits. Her obligation to attend Comstock’s New Year’s celebration further drained her. Just being in a room full of people exhausted her, especially when they were constantly pecking and prodding about her work and research and how incredible it was that she was able to bring this glorious city to life.

She left as soon as it wasn’t terribly impolite to do so, her early departure further encouraged by what she could only perceive as cold, catty glances from the hostess. She didn’t give the glares a second thought beyond another excuse to return to the comfort of her study.

Brushing her hair and teeth, Rosalind ran though the list of tasks for today. Naturally, complaints about the cold were pouring in faster than the snow. God forbid January be a bit chilly in the new Eden. She rolled her eyes and scowled. She put a damn city in the sky. She gave the impossible thing a beach, _a beach_ of all things, because Lady Comstock just couldn’t live without her sandy Sunday strolls. And now they all wanted her to, apparently, eliminate all undesirable seasonal changes.

“Why move thousands of feet in the sky if what you wanted was a Caribbean summer home?” she thought bitterly, twisting and pinning her hair.

She reached for her cosmetic bag and considered, self-indulgently, doing nothing to change the weather. She was already protecting over a million souls in a properly pressurized, temperature-controlled bubble, of sorts, as necessary protection against the over 10,000 meter elevation. She’d like to see their reactions to her shutting down that surrounding component of her field, wondering how, approximately, -54ᵒ C would suit the population of Colombia.

Hair and makeup done, she moved to her closet and, with little to no concern, slipped into a dark green skirt and cream blouse. “Besides,” she thought, working up her buttons, “ _I_ rather like the cold.” Tucking in her blouse and buckling a tan belt, she made a mental note to message the members of the weather maintenance team and give them the week off. Lacing her cream-and-tan knee-high boots, she smiled to herself, “Because I just don’t care,” she said aloud in a sing-song voice. She had enough legitimate concerns regarding Colombia’s safety and maintenance.

Hearing the clock chime quarter past seven, Rosalind gave a quick nod, knowing she was perfectly on schedule. First thing’s first, she made her way down the stairs to check the readings on her contraption. After a month of multiple daily recordings, the flashing screens and series of lights had become a second language to her.

Eyes scanning quickly, she nodded briefly to herself, quickly noting the coordinates that needed the field elevated by seven degrees and those that needed a decrease of two. Simple enough in theory, and in practice with her knowledge and her contraption, but it never failed to cross her mind that only she understood these calculations. Over a million lives depended on her every day. What started as panic-inducing pressure had faded into a simple occupational fact.

Buttons pressed and switches flicked, she leaned back in her chair, taking a deep breath. She should leave. She should go work on her immediate projects. She should check her schedule for meetings and assessments and-

No, she couldn’t help herself. Yes, it had been two weeks. Two painstaking weeks during which she had received no correspondence. Eagerly and with an eagle’s eye, she had watched the changes on the single particle that fluctuated between two realities. Two weeks. Silence. Her euphoria had faded into a begrudging acceptance of what had always likely been true – nothing existed on the other side to answer her call.

She gritted her teeth tightly and set her head in her hands. Two weeks. Had anyone else attempted this experiment, she would have told them to stop using valuable resources and focus on the task at hand. Rubbing her temples, she made a begrudging promise to herself. After today, she would stop the monitoring. She would cease all attempted contact with the other universe. As likely as not, it was empty and void. But she allowed herself one last check. Angrily, she noticed her eyes burning, and quickly swatted away the irrational tears. There was no sentiment to be had here, only scientific inquiry.

Refusing to look at the screen, she flipped the switch that would project the changes in her particle. She heard the buzzing that told her the screen was alive and functioning, but she couldn’t bring herself to look. With a deep sigh and a shake of the head, she raised her head, reading the particle’s variations. For weeks, it had been a steady repeat of her message in Morse code, one that was beginning to drive her mad.

At first glance, that was what she saw, flashes and dashes, not unlike what she had sent out, unceasingly, for two weeks. But after a few seconds…

This was different…

Rosalind gasped and grasped the arms of her chair. She hadn’t the foggiest idea what the message was, but there was something there, something responding to her call.

Frantically, she rushed for a pen and paper and sat staring at the screen with aggressive intensity. She marked every dot and dash meticulously until she began to notice repetition, suggesting the beginning of the message.

She felt her heart hammering in her chest as she haphazardly searched for her interpretive Morse code pages.

It took her an infuriatingly long amount of time, but she finally interpreted the message: _Hello, Rosalind. Stop. I am Robert Lutece. Stop. You have my attention._

Rosalind pushed her chair away from the desk, breathing deeply and frantically. A million, million questions buzzed through her mind, too quickly for her to keep up.

For a moment she could only sit there, shocked, trying desperately to interpret the words in front of her.

She had done it. She made contact across universal boundaries.

Rosalind ran her fingers through her hair, rung her hands together, completely unaware what the next step required.

“Calm down,” she whispered to herself, breathing deeply to steady her body. With a final sigh, she reread the message. A broad smile spread across her face as the questions continued to race through her mind.

“Robert?” she thought, not at all overlooking the similarities between their names, wondering what other similarities existed.

She could hardly contain her excitement. She rose from her chair, pacing the room, thinking of the infinite possibilities she had just discovered.

Still smiling, she sat back at her desk, thinking, “First thing’s first, how to respond…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I messed up yesterday! This was supposed to be included with chapter one. My updates with be longer, just so you know. Thanks!


	3. Bogoliubov transformation

**1 March 1892**

Rosalind chose five of her most tolerable scientists to lead the various factions. She ensured the new leadership roles were formally distributed, giving the impression of not only her complete and utter confidence in these men and disguising the fact that she was shirking her responsibilities to the city to further pursue her research with Robert. She had done a more than decent job of keeping her work limited to reading and consolidating their reports for her weekly consults with Comstock, omitting discussing the division of labor.

The first three weeks were the most exhilarating. Their similarities were astounding; a shared a birthday, parents, and, evidently, appearance. She theorized that they were the same person in two realities, and he slowly began to share her perspective.

She cursed herself irrationally for not earlier having a full understanding of Morse code. The messages were painstaking, but after nearly three months she was well versed in the infuriating dots and dashes.

The first of March, that was the date they had agreed upon, for simplicity if nothing else. She had been counting down the hours until their agreed meeting, and counting minutes for the past fifteen. Soon it would be 7:00 exactly, and she would have the opportunity to meet her “other” face-to-face. Listening intently for her clock to chime the hour, Rosalind stood eagerly beside her contraption, bouncing on her toes. At the chime, she flipped a switch and stepped quickly away from the machine. A fissure appeared on the platform between the machine’s arches. It grew and glowed brightly. Suddenly she felt a wave of heat, and she jumped away from the burning light.

Her mind raced to a hundred theories, each more horrible than the last. Nothing approaching this experiment had ever been undertaken. She was attempting to rip a hole through reality. What if by doing so she had placed Robert in danger? What if she flipped her switch a second too soon, sending who knows what form of atomic energy through to his side? She could have killed him. She could have torn apart his entire world. All this flashed through her mind in less than a second, leaving her stunned and frantic at the edge of the platform.

Suddenly, the heat and light subsided, and she took a tentative step closer to the light, through which she could begin to see a laboratory set up, one that, to her surprise, was much shabbier than she expected. She clasped her hands tightly, overwhelmed with a dozen anxieties.

She heard her heart pound as a figure appeared in the tear, holding a fire extinguisher and looking frazzled. Setting down the metal cylinder, he ran a hand through his hair. “What, that was much less graceful than I would have preferred.”

Rosalind heard herself laugh with relief, “I was so worried-”

“I know. I was afraid the fire had spread to you, and-”

“Oh, no, that couldn’t-”

“Couldn’t have happened at all, true… probably,” he rolled his eyes. “But you’ll have to forgive my irrational thinking when, upon creating the first rip in space-time half my equipment was abruptly ablaze.”

She smirked at his tone. “Forgiven.”

Breath caught, worries assuaged, they finally had a moment to appreciate their accomplishment.

Meeting her eyes and smiling, he began with a simple, “Hello, then.”

Laughing at the impossibility of this moment, she responded, “Hello.”

Rosalind couldn’t help herself from analyzing every inch of her alternate self. They could have been siblings, twins, even. She noted his hair and eyes were the exact shades of her own, saw that he, too, had been cursed with the sprinkling of freckles across the nose that had been an object of ridicule in, she was sure, both their childhoods.

“You’re shorter than I would have thought,” he teased.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, if we’re the same person-”

“Pardon the slight genetic difference, then; you’ll notice a few others as well.”

He laughed softly. “Indeed.”

For a moment, they simply stared at one another, both still attempting to comprehend the other’s existence.

Snapping out of her self-indulgent state Rosalind asked quite seriously, “How much damage was done?”

“To be honest I believe this conversation is a bit one-sided, in that your machine is allowing the connection to remain open. And,” he paused, looking up and over at something Rosalind couldn’t see, “Everything within about two meters was caught in the fire. Luckily my journals are all across the room.”

“Very lucky,” she agreed, examining his laboratory as he began scanning hers.

“Well, there’s another difference between us.”

“What?”

“Equipment quality.”

“Ah, yes, well, I have a,” Rosalind paused for the briefest of moments. How to describe her monetary situation without expounding into the full explanation of Comstock… “A financially generous benefactor, in simplest terms.”

He nodded curiously before the light encircling him fluctuated wildly. Rosalind caught his eye as Robert cautioned, “We shouldn’t leave this open too much longer.”

Knowing hers was the machine maintaining the connection, she knew she had to be the one to end it. But stepping away from him, leaving when they had finally met…

The edges of the opening convulsed wildly. It took a great deal of will-power, but Rosalind left Robert and the platform, turning off the contraption and hearing the tear fade and close. The next day, they bombarded one another with experimental theories and reviews. Despite the higher quality of her equipment, they quickly agreed that the disastrous results of their first contact were not entirely his responsibility. For both their safeties, they agreed to resume non-verbal communication, until they were absolutely certain all adverse effects were remedied.

An agreement was reached to focus efforts on perfecting her device, as it was already far more advanced, and they now knew it was only necessary to open a window from one side for a link to establish. Despite the time-consuming nature of their inter-dimensional Morse code, Rosalind knew she would not have refined her contraption so quickly without his assistance. Without a doubt, his calculations cut her work time in half, and within a month, the functionality of the machine was perfected.

When they suspected as much, the “twins” agreed on another meeting time, exactly one month after their first. This time, there was a noticeable difference in the clarity of the window, the edges much less jagged; it was nearly perfectly circular. Robert’s lab remained unscathed, and after a quarter hour, their opening maintained its structure. Rosalind was positively beaming. Though having only approximately twenty minutes’ total of face-to-face conversation, he understood and appreciated the rarity of her smiles, a thawing of an icy exterior.

“I couldn’t have done any of this without you,” she added sincerely. “I can’t put into words how far your insight brought this project along.”

Robert shrugged. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Her expression of exasperated amusement was one that Robert decided was one of his favorites.

Rosalind rolled her eyes, but before she could retort the same fluctuation, the one they experienced a month ago, coursed through the tear. Robert pulled out a pocket watch, “Twenty-six minutes,” he reported.

“That seems to be its capacity,” she agreed.

With a calm much stronger than her own, Robert replied, “No, no, give it another minute or two.”

“No fear of universe-ending paradoxes, then?”

“Oh, definitely,” his eyebrows shot up, and he crossed his arms, “but it’s important we understand-”

“The absolute boundaries. You’re right.”

“I often am.”

“Should I take that for a compliment, then?”

He grinned and checked his watch again as another instability, more violent than the first, surged through the opening. He snapped the watch shut. “Twenty-eight minutes, exactly, and I think it’s fair to call it a day. Universe ending paradoxes and all.” His tone was light, but his eyes betrayed the building panic.

“Agreed,” called Rosalind, already running to shut down the machine. She pulled the switch, and the bright light flickered and vanished.

Dusting her hands, Rosalind nodded to herself. “Alright, twenty-eight minutes.”

She took a deep breath to steady herself from her fear just seconds ago, knowing that she could very well have caused the collapse of two distinct realities. But she didn’t, and it was time to move past that. Their experiments always contained a high level of risk; that was simply fact. Today, though, was highly encouraging. They understood the boundaries of the tears, were able to produce them with a much greater stability. All of this was excellent news.

 

**7 March 1892**

Unfortunately, it was also news that was inescapably necessary to deliver to Comstock during their weekly meetings.

After explaining obtained structure and longevity of the tears, she was also forced to reveal the results of a secondary experiment, one both she and Robert knew was necessary, logical, and thrilling. The machine could connect to multiple realities. Robert’s had been the first to be discovered simply due to the proximity of their universes’ shared atom. Being, quite literally, a part of her, it was unsurprising that this connection was the first established.

After a bit of discussion, a bit of debate, and a bit of reluctance on both sides, it was decided that Rosalind should indeed investigate the possible connections between universes beyond Robert’s. Given a theoretically infinite number of atoms in her universe, it was not only likely but probable that an infinite number of atoms existing between universes existed, offering her a literal infinity of universes to explore. The result was a brilliant success.

Which would have been a basket of daisies, had she not needed to report this to her hyper-religious, self-righteous check-writer.

From Comstock’s perspective, she had developed a way to look into the possibilities of everything. Anything that could and would occur was now at her fingertips, he had only to hover over her shoulder.

Rosalind had that this was not a device that informed which number was most likely to win next week’s lottery. (Of course, it _could_ , but that would be a gross waste of time and resources.) This was a glimpse into the infinite possibilities of infinite realities. The vastness of her discovery escaped Comstock completely, though he made it more than clear he intended to visit the machine the next morning and, if it did all she promised, would be making more-than-regular use of it.

With a sigh Rosalind fell into her desk chair, beginning the arduous task of coding and sending the day’s events to Robert.

 

**8 March 1892**

True to his word, the Prophet arrived at her doorstep the next day, practically bouncing on his heels. With the patience of a governess, she led him to the main portion of the lab that contained the contraption.

Comstock grinned and eyed the missing ceiling planks and haphazard furniture piles. “You’ve redecorated.”

“Interior design was always my calling. This physics mess is a passing hobby, really.” Missing her sneer, Comstock laughed, and she hurriedly cut him off. “I feel it more than prudent to mention no one has any experience with such experiments.”

“Oh, you can’t possibly doubt _your_ abilities.”

Rather than correct him in full (which, she noted ruefully, she had been doing more and more recently), she offered, “Not at all. But it would be irresponsible to venture into any form of experimentation without knowing all the associated risks.”

He nodded blankly.

“Which is exactly what you are suggesting.”

Comstock shook his head and gave a patronizing smile. “My dear child, your worries are unfounded.”

She blinked in shock.

“There is only one telling of the tale, one story to be told, and that is the one written by our Lord,” he shrugged. “Is our present conversation not evidence enough that we, by His divine intervention, are alive to converse?”

Every muscle in her body tensed at his elementary understanding, but she reminded herself where the endless funds that brought her lab into existence originated.

“Hmm.”

He chuckled knowingly, which made her grit her teeth. “Then this is all according to His plan!” he exclaimed. “We are the one reality, and you, through the miracle of science,” she cringed visibly at that phrase, “discovered how to gaze into, into…”

“Possibility?” she offered, knowing how wildly inaccurate that assumption was.

“Exactly! Don’t you see?” He took several steps forward and held her face in his hands. Rosalind felt a wave of nausea. “You are an agent of the angels. You have given me sight into their Sight.” He was so emphatic she nearly felt pity.

Comstock removed his hands with a final, chilling, stroke of her cheek. He turned to face the machine, clapping his hands together and smiling idiotically. “Well then, I suppose we’ll need a regular schedule.”

“A what?”

His glance was that of a renowned chemistry professor, baffled that a student could not conceptualize an atom. “I’ll need constant access to this machine,” he clarified, in a slightly slower tone of voice that made Rosalind’s blood boil. “If this is the frame into which I shall receive prophecy, do you not also ‘feel it prudent’ that I access it as frequently as possible? Besides,” he chuckled, with an irate tone of condescension, “I funded your little experiments, did I not? My money is the only reason you’ve been able to develop this,” he gestured vaguely towards the machine. “I paid for this device, and therefore it is mine to use as I wish, would you not agree?”

She could only provide another empty nod.

Comstock smiled broadly and rested his hands on her shoulders. “You are truly a gift from Heaven. Without you, none of this would be possible,” he smiled warmly.

She gritted her teeth and repressed all thought.

“I shall see you tomorrow, child,” and with that he was gone.

Feeling rather like an adolescent turned to her diary for solace, Rosalind began messaging Robert. It took nearly two hours to code the message, which suited Rosalind just fine. It gave her time to level her head.

Comstock was a child whose only concerns were which toys would be more impressive on the playground. He was alarmingly self-absorbed, even for one brash enough to call himself a ‘prophet.’ She went to make a pot of tea, contenting herself with the knowledge that Comstock, like all children, would all too quickly loose interest in a toy too complex for his use. He’d bore himself within a week.

**17 August 1892**

Rosalind was not accustomed to being incorrect, let alone entirely and completely wrong. Five months had passed since Comstock’s first viewing, and he made a point to “gaze into prophecy,” or whatever he damn well considered it, on a daily basis.

Six months had passed, with an equal number of opportunities to speak with Robert. Yes, there was always messaging, but that was limited and time-consuming. It was not entirely a sane thought or sound theory, but Rosalind had been turning it over and over in her head ever since her communication with Robert had come to an abrupt and infuriating halt. Pacing anxiously around her lab, Rosalind tossed a few phrases around in her head, trying to sound at least mildly sane with her proposal. She jumped at the clock’s chime, hurried over to the machine, took a deep breath, and activated it. Moving over in front of the tear, she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw a familiar face smiling at her.

“Oh, thank god,” she whispered, not quietly enough.

“Is there a malfunction?”

“No, no, it’s just,” she felt her heart pounding with a myriad of emotions, “It’s just such a relief to finally see you.”

Robert smiled and took a step forward, reaching out a hand, before quickly pulling it back. “Right, division between realities. I can’t just…”

“No,” she agreed.

A few seconds of silence passed before he answered, “Though I’ve missed you, too.”

Rosalind crossed her arms and glanced away. Robert smirked; she was adorable when she was flustered.

“Now, you had something of some urgency?” he prompted.

“Have,” she corrected automatically.

He rolled his eyes. “On second thought, the months without you were quite nice. ‘Had’ isn’t entirely incorrect.”

“But we’re discussing the present.”

“And the intermediate time since our last conversation.”

“Which is clearly not as relevant.”

“Are you still nervous?”

“Why would I be?”

Robert’s posture relaxed, and he smiled easily. “Your hands were shaking when I asked about the nature of your last message. I thought you could use a distraction. Since you seem sorted, do you have an inquiry?”

“That was nearly clever.” She cleared her throat. “Now… I’m afraid you’ll think I’m completely mad.”

He gave a quick nod, “Excellent, I believe we’re on the same page. One moment, then.” He left her line of sight for a moment and returned with a baseball.  “Head’s up,” was all the warning she got before he gave the ball a light underhand toss that she caught easily.

“Well, that’s a ‘yes’ to your first question,” he added with a grin.

Rosalind was taken completely aback. “How did you know?”

“That you would ask, or that it would work?”

Wide-eyed, she was nearly stuttering, “I don’t know, either, both?”

“Your question was obvious.”

“The answer?”

“Blind luck. I had absolutely no way to know.” Robert pointed to the ball in her hand. “But you now have certainty that interdimensional travel is feasible with your device.”

She kept turning the ball over and over in her hands. This object had crossed from one universe into another without disturbing the tear or its structural integrity. She felt light-headed, there were so many implications, so many questions resolved and a thousand more to answer.

Rosalind gave her head a quick shake, there would be time to stand in shock and awe after the tear was closed.

“Would you like to hear your second question?” he asked.

“A psychic physicist. Do you do children’s parties, as well?”

“Only on Sundays.”

She laughed softly. “Well… do you think I’m completely insane? I mean, this would be… unprecedented to say the least.”

“Quite.”

“But I can’t live like this anymore,” she rushed out, completely losing her façade of composure. “I can’t stand it. I can’t go weeks without seeing you. Our work is reduced to a snail’s pace because of one selfish old man, and-”

“Comstock’s not much older than us,” he noted with a questioning tone.

“Yes, well, turns out constant exposure to thousands of different realities has a few negative side effects, as much to my utter shock as yours, and now the bastard looks as if he could be our father.”

“And mine’s the only other reality you open?”

“Well, yes, obviously.”

“I’m touched.”

“Hush. Anyway, right, we’re hardly accomplishing anything at all, and we’ve worked too hard for too long to just… stop,” she finished weakly. He nodded and she continued, “So, I think one of us should transfer into the other’s universe,” she spoke in a quick, uncertain voice, most unlike her own.

“By which you mean _I_ will come over to _your_ world.”

“Well, that’s a discussion to table, obviously.”

“No it isn’t. You have the resources, the machine, the funding, we’d gain nothing by forcing you to live in this world.”

The tear gave a flicker, and she knew their time was running short.

“What are you thinking?” she asked after a moment of silence.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so terrified in my life, to be honest,” he took a deep breath, “But I know you’re right. There’s no other option. We’ll have to pace a series of experiments to see if this has even the slightest chance of success.”

“Of course.”

“But I can’t say I was entirely unprepared for the prospect. You’re not the only one who’s been stir-crazed these past few months,” he gave a little nod to the ball she was turning over and over in her hands, “and we’ve already seen that objects can pass through without any ill effect.” He looked down at his hand and flexed his fingers, “The only issue being I’m a bit more complex than a baseball.”

They were both silent for a moment, Rosalind terrified of his answer.

He looked up and met her gaze. “I trust you. If you say we can do this, then we can.”

“Simple as that?”

“Simple as that. Though I have no doubt I’ll have some sort of panic attack as soon as this transmission closes. Moving to a new country is stressful enough, an entire universe is significantly more daunting.”

“When do we begin testing?”

“A week from today. I need to…” He trailed off, looking distant.

The tear gave another jolt, and they recognized their sixty second mark.

Robert gave himself a shake. “I don’t suppose there’s any change of getting that baseball back, is there? It’s a bit sentimental.”

Rosalind grinned and tossed it in the air before catching it. “You can come collect it yourself,” and she left his view and shut down the machine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really am sorry I haven't posted anything in ages. I could list about nineteen personal excuses, but no one wants any of that mess. There's a skeleton for this story overall, and I need to schedule definitive times to work on it. You can message me at trakands.tumblr.com to tell me to get it in gear, next time I'm too slow. Thank you so much for sticking with me! I'm excited to write the upcoming chapters on this!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the read! I've had this on my computer for ages without posting it, and here we are. I have 25k words done and am definitely not done, so I've got a bit of a head start. If anyone wants to be a pal and beta read, holla at me. The summary is under construction.


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